Your Ex-Lover is Dead
by pyxie
Summary: It's been years since Castiel has seen Dean, and he would have preferred to have never seen him again. Dean/Cas AU
1. Your Ex-Lover is Dead

A/N: This is my first fanfiction that I'm publishing, so I hope you like. It's based off of my favourite song: _Your Ex-Lover is Dead_ by Stars. They're amazing. I got the idea for this one in the shower, and it wouldn't leave me alone. It's unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. And if any of them are distracting, just let me know and I'll fix it. -Pyx

* * *

This is strange. I honestly thought I'd never see you again. But as my semi-acquainted friend-of-a-friend introduces us, I force myself to act normal.

"Dean, this is Castiel. Castiel, Dean."

"Yes, I think we've met before." I take your hand and smile. You honestly look absolutely bewildered. I can't say I don't blame you, considering how many years it's been.

Rain starts pouring and we take refuge underneath an awning outside of the coffee house that we had all decided to meet at. Your eyes are still the same now that I take a closer look at you. You're still just as beautiful as you've always been... But you just look so...sad.

"So, Cassie." Balthazar shocks me back to the present and I force myself to look away from you. "You wanna hail us down a taxi, or shall I do it?" Those blue eyes glint as he smirks at me, and I know that I probably would have gone for him if you weren't here. Your very presence just sets me off ease.

"You can do it. I'll watch." I force a smile, earning myself a small nudge from Balthazar. I try hard not to look at you, but I can still feel your eyes on me, burning into the side of my head. Under your scrutiny, I feel a small rise of irritation. Of all the places that I had decided to leave Lawrence for, you show up in Montreal too. There are so many other places in the world that you could have left, but no, you decided to come to the same place as me.

I sigh externally as Balthazar manages to capture a taxi. We crowd in; I'm sandwiched in the middle, my shoulder pressing against yours. All those times in the past that we would bump shoulders and I would blush rush back to my head as well as some suppressed memories. I turn my attention back to you after we've crossed over Pont Champlain in silence and force myself to say your name for the first time in years.

"Dean." You turn your attention from the window and you stare at me with those wide, green eyes. "Everything okay?"

You manage to nod. "Yeah, man. I'm fine. This rain though..." You trail off and then look back out the window. The taxi falls silent again, and I'm rather thankful for it; it gives me a chance to think. Well, I would be doing some thinking if we weren't pressed up against each other. Balthazar is pressing in on me from the other side, and I just want to pull away from both of you.

We're out of Greater Montreal now and in the actual city. Balthazar pays off the driver and we get out. He checks the time and shakes his head. "You know, I actually just remembered that there's something I have to do while we're here. I'll call one of you in an hour. Do you think you could be civil towards each other?" His words are spoken in jest, but there's a sort of underlined malice directed at you, but I feign innocence until he leaves.

I turn to you and you stare at me, not taking your eyes off of me even when I look away. I know that look. You wore one similar when we had first gotten together. I remember how you would tell me that you weren't gay for anyone but me and how you would say that you always wondered how things would have been different if I were female. But even through all of that, I would send you random little postcards and letters telling you about my day. Always signed, 'Love, Cas'.

"So...he just kinda left us here." I jump at your sudden words.

"Yes, I've heard that he does this frequently."

"Sounds familiar." You mumble, barely audible, but I still hear you.

My eyes narrow and I tilt my head to the side. You used to call this 'cute', but that is the last adjective on my mind. I'm not here for nostalgic purposes. I'm here because I needed to be a stand-in for a friend of mine. You were the last person I wanted to see. I'm about to open my mouth to retort, but I force myself to calm down. Live through this, and you won't look back, I tell myself. Just an hour more and Balthazar will be back, we can go do whatever the hell I'm here to do and then I can go home back to my kitten and my cozy condo and watch Casablanca. The thought soothes me for a moment until you look up at me again.

"So, Castiel." You use my full name to make our conversation more impersonal. I know exactly what you're doing. You've done it before, but I'm just gonna let you. For now. "While we're waiting, are we just going to stand here while it rains? Or are we actually gonna go somewhere?"

Screw whatever Anna wanted me to do for Balthazar. I'll call her later. I force myself to look at Dean through the rain.

"There's something I want to say to you, Dean." It's been years, and he's still harbouring contempt for me. I pull together every ounce of bravery that I have within me to say this one thing. You look at me expectantly with a slight jeer in your eyes. "Once upon a time, you were exactly what I wanted. And if you didn't like what I gave to you-for you-then fine, it's over. And you know what? Even through everything we went through in the end, I'm not sorry I met you. I'm not sorry it's over. And I'm not sorry there's nothing to save." My voice cracks somewhere in the middle, but comes back and remains level.

You look at with those same downcast eyes that you had when you ended it. "I'm not sorry there's nothing to save." You echo, and you mean it, no matter how quiet it is.

We had been in love. Painfully, helplessly, happily, and I might as well add hopelessly, in love with each other. But that was in the beginning when we couldn't take our hands off of each other and when we would feed each other strawberries in the light of the television in the depths of the night. That was when we would be completely content just sitting on the sofa, curled up together, remaining in total silence.

But then, as with all couples, the honeymoon period ends, and we're forced to face the realities of life. And we managed to for a few years. We had even moved in together. But you were fed up with not having the choice of having children and the looks that we would get from outsiders. And I would have to work late and it just stopped working. And I'm not sorry that we split up. And one day, you just said it was over. Made me pack up my things and leave. So I did; I left for Canada. And five years later, here we are again.

I can't tell if there are tears on my cheeks, or if it's the rain. They must be tears, because you reach out to hold me by the elbow. I pull away and look at you in confusion. Why would you touch me? You're the one who shut me out. It all becomes too much to handle. "I'm leaving now. I'll call Balthazar later and tell him I'm sick." You look ready to protest. "Goodbye, Dean."

Before I turn away, I'm vaguely aware of the fact that you were staring at my lips. I've moved on, Dean. I was fine until you popped up again. I'm not going to allow you to haunt my thoughts anymore. Live through this and you won't look back.


	2. Set Yourself on Fire

_A/N: By request, I've been asked to write a part 2_._ I've changed the point of view slightly. It's still in first person, but I'm not using 'you' anymore to describe Dean. Because of reasons. Chapter title is taken from Stars'_ Set Yourself on Fire, _another really wonderful song. Thank you, my lovelies =3 I really hope you like it._

* * *

I quit. I couldn't take the stares that Anna had started sending me about leaving Balthazar and Dean. It's been a year, and I still imagine your face when I had finally said good-bye to you and not the other way around.

I downgraded to an apartment in Montreal and started working in a coffee shop. I enjoy talking to people about their lives and receiving their thank-yous and sweet farewells. Maybe, perhaps I should accept this as a fact, I have been craving sweet nothings from people.

But I should have seen this coming. My manager (and cousin), Gabriel, steps out for his chocolate break, handing me the keys in case anything should happen. It's fairly quiet now, I'm almost finished making the last-person-in-line's medium mocha with a vanilla shot. Everyone else is sitting down at the tables, either typing furiously at their laptops or talking with whomever they're with-dates, friends, significant others, lovers, acquaintances...I suppose I like this job mainly because of my love for people watching.

There's the ringing of a bell, signifying that a customer is walking in. It couldn't possibly be Gabriel; he's usually gone for a good hour. I glance up, preparing a smile, and an 'I'll be with you momentarily'. But both die on my lips. So it goes.

No matter how many years go by, no matter how many times I promise myself I'm over him, I'll never stop losing my breath everytime I see him. Dean Winchester.

"Medium mocha with a shot of vanilla for Irene." I find my voice, ten seconds too late. I know he's noticed me. He's leaning against the counter expectantly, watching me with level eyes. I try to calm my heart down even though it feels as though it's going to burst through my chest.

Irene gets her drink, but not without a sly smile, her blue eyes sparkling at me knowingly.

"What can I get for you?" I avoid his eyes, busying them by looking at the register.

"Maybe a few minutes of your time." His words catch me off guard and I look up at him in surprise. He's still beautiful.

"If you want that, you have to order something first." I take a step away from the register half-expecting him to just leave, but no, he pulls out his damn wallet.

"I want a small drip coffee." He places a five in my tip jar, and then a ten, and then a twenty.

"If you keep doing that, you're not going to be able to pay for your coffee." I can't help but jest, but it's almost worth it for Dean's expression.

"Cas, I'm insulted." My old nickname. Not even Gabriel calls me that. He knows it's a reminder of Dean. "You know I make more than that."

I can't but sigh, going over to the pre-made drip for a momentary distraction. "It's been years, I'm not sure how much you make anymore, nor do I want to keep track." I hand off his coffee and he pays in exact change. And I'm sure if I didn't, he would have just placed it in the tip jar.

"Look..." Dean sits down at the bar, cradling his coffee in his hands. He would always do this whenever he wanted to bring up something serious. Like when he asked me to move in, or when he first said 'I love you', or when he thought I was cheating... "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." I answer immediately, wishing I could make myself a coffee and start drinking it, but I can't.

"And I know that. You made it pretty clear a year ago." It was ten months, three weeks, and two days since they had seen each other again with Balthazar. "I just...I want to talk to you. About us." As though he needs to clarify.

"There is no us. There hasn't been an us for years. You made that pretty clear when you made me leave." I can't help but hope that another customer will walk in so that I can attend to him or her instead of having to listen to this.

"I was stupid and scared..." Dean leans forward, setting his coffee to the side. I take a worried glance to the other patrons. All of them are blissfully unaware of us. Except for Irene, who's still smiling at me.

"Three years. We were together for three years, Dean." Something changes in his eyes and his expression softens. "What?"

"You said my name. I thought..." He shakes his head, a smile on his face. Even though my words weren't particularly welcoming. Dean looks up at me, his eyes bright with elation. "I didn't think I'd ever hear you say my name again."

I'm taken aback. "I can't have this conversation at work. Please leave." I look away from him, and tug at my fingers.

"Cas, please, I-" Dean's voice is pleading, any traces of that smile are gone.

"No. Go, please." In the periphery of my vision, I can see him open his mouth in protest. But he changes his mind, grabbing his coffee and leaving.

When I'm sure he's out of sight, I sit down on the stool behind the counter and drop my head in my hands. That was more than just emotionally draining. I had never wanted to see him again. A hand lays itself on my shoulder and I look up.

"Gabriel..." He's looking at me in sympathy.

"Take the rest of the day off, Cassie. I can handle it." I glance at the time on the computer. 5.39, we close at 9. I assume he had seen Dean leave. I know Gabriel, there's no way he would just let me leave like this. "It's okay. I'll warm you up a chocolate croissant for the morning tomorrow." He all but scoots me out the door.

To be honest, I don't really remember my walk home, or my shower, or how I got into bed, but somehow two hours have gone by and it's all blurry in my memory. I'm curled up in my bed, staring out the window at the lights of Montreal. Apparently, I had turned on Rachmaninov's second piano concerto. I had missed the first movement, for the second one is playing. Or is this my iPod just playing these songs on shuffle? Who knows how many songs I've tuned out. Much like my music, I've tuned out the time again, and here it is two o'clock in the morning.

I force myself realise I'm falling asleep, and then I just let it happen.

True to his word, Gabriel has made me a chocolate croissant for before work starts.

"So, you wanna talk about it? Or do you just want to continue living your life as though nothing's happened?"

"The latter." I take a bite into my croissant.

"Alright. I'll leave it then." And that's what i love about Gabriel, he just let's me brood the way I want to. "Oh, we got so much money in tips yesterday. Here, this is for you." He hands me five twenties and then goes in back to get more cups and lids for the day.

At eight o'clock, I unlock the door and flip the sign. The morning rush is imminent. I glance over at Gabriel who winks at me and replaces our liquid sugar.

"I wonder if Meg is gonna come in today..." He ponders openly. "She has the hots for you, I've seen the looks. She's pining for dat ass." Gabriel is, sometimes, much too vulgar for his own good.

But before I have a chance to express my distaste for such displeasing speech at such an early hour, Dean walks in. "Hey, Cas, Gabe."

My jaw drops slightly, and I look to my cousin for help. And help he does. "Hey there yourself, Deanie Weanie." He leans forward on the counter. "Don't you have anything better to do than mess with my family?"

"I just wanna talk to him." Dean retorts.

"Talk to him? I'm sure he doesn't want to." Gabriel looks over at me. "Do you want to talk to Mr. Winchester over here, Cassie?"

"We have already shared words." I make him a small drip coffee, because, somehow, I just know that's all he wants. I set it on the counter and busy myself by eating my chocolate croissant.

"Don't think that's gonna keep me away, Cas. We're gonna talk one way or another." Dean pays for his coffee, sends me a heart breakingly beautiful smile, and then walks out of the door.

Gabriel and I look at each other. "I'll be damned if he keeps coming back in here." Gabriel mutters.

And damned he is.

Every morning, Dean comes in, says we need to talk, orders a drip coffee, winks at me, flirts at me, says we need to talk again, and when I refuse, he just blows me a kiss and leaves. He tells me little tidbits about his life that I didn't know. He's started reading David Mitchell and Neil Gaiman, he's taken up freelance writing and has even gotten himself a publisher. I try to tune him out but everyday is the same routine. And sometimes, he comes in twice a day. Or on very few occasions (thankfully), he's come in three times in one day. It's as though he works right across the street.

It's become difficult to concentrate on people's orders. Every time that bell rings now, I think it's Dean coming in to ruin a little more of my sanity. I had been happy to know that my bubble has been untouched and unmarred by another relationship in years. But sadly, with Dean's multiple appearances, I no longer have a bubble of sanctity.

And I can't handle him coming into my job anymore.

The bell rings and i jump, spilling a vanilla latte for Garth on the floor. I apologise profusely, the door momentarily forgotten, and I begin to remake the latte. Thankfully, Garth is patient and kind, so he accepts my apology and kind of chuckles sympathetically as i scramble back and forth behind the counter to finish his latte.

"Making messes, I see." Dean. "You know...if you hired more people to work here, you wouldn't be here for thirteen hours everyday. I know someone who needs a job."

"We aren't hiring you." To the patron's ears, that may have sounded harsh, but I'm just so tired of his appearances.

I finish up Garth's latte and hand it to him. I've made it one size larger in consolation for the wait. He smiles and thanks me and then leaves.

"You know, I wouldn't come by so often if you would just accept having dinner with me and talking things over."

"Fine." I agree all too quickly. "But I can't see you here anymore. I can't take it. You've infested my life, and I can't get you out of it."

"That was kind of the point." Dean looks at the calendar behind me. "And it's only taken you seven and a half weeks to realise that. So...Restaurant Kashima tomorrow night at eight?"

"I thought you don't like sushi."

"They've got cooked stuff." Unlike usual, all Dean does is drop a fiver in the tip jar and then leave. No coffee. I relax visibly and lean against the counter. But only for a moment as more customers walk through the door.

I walk through Westmount at seven the next evening, wondering to myself why the hell I'm so early. There were so many other things I could be doing right now. I could be alphabetising my records, DVDs, and CDs. I could be mounting the bookshelves on my walls for my pseudo library. I could be doing anything else. But no, I'm early on the west side of the Pont Champlain bridge. Thankfully, it isn't raining.

"Cas? Castiel!" Dean, he's early too. I try to stop the relief from building up in me. I turn and meet his eyes. For a long while, we just stare at each other, lost in each other's eyes. It's been awhile since i've seen Dean's eyes lit up by street lights. "You're beautiful." At his words, I snap out of my stupor and frown.

"Don't. Please...it isn't fair." I glance at my watch. 7.06, so early. "Since we're both here, why don't you tell me what you want to talk about."

"I love you." Dean blurts. I freeze. "I know I only said it twice in those three years we were together, but you deserved to hear it everyday. I love you. You, Castiel Novak. I have been, and always will be in love with you."

I swallow, trying to regain my voice. My first thought is to say something smart back, retort in a way that will hurt him, but I can't muster it. "You never showed it." My voice is small, weak, feeble.

"Yeah, I know. But I did, even when I thought you were ch-"

I cut him off, my voice and senses coming back. "Even when you thought I was cheating on you? Is that what you were going to say? I was faithful to you, Dean. I never so much as looked at someone in a way that could ever be misconstrued as 'bedroom eyes'. Why the sudden change? Why do you keep coming to the coffee shop? Why won't you let it be?"

"Because I love you. Why don't you get it?" He steps towards me and places a hand on my cheek. "Because there's no one out there for me, but you."

"You made me leave, Dean. Three years, and all you had to say was 'you're not the one'." He flinches back, his hand falling away. I can't stop. "You would always tell me about how you wanted children and then you'd look at me as though blaming me. And I'd hate to ruin it for you, but I still can't produce children."

"I don't care. I tried leading the life of a father-to-be, but it didn't work out."

"How many abortions did she get?" I'm horrified. But not as much as Dean is.

"None! Whoa. Cas!" Dean shakes his head. Something in me stirs. "I knew that if I wanted to be a father, I could be. But we talked about marriage, and I just couldn't be committed to her, because..." He trails off and looks at me, his expression softening. In the early days of our relationship, he would look at me like this. Tender, openly loving, unguarded. I felt another part of my defence slip. My body moves forward without my permission. "Cas, I love you."

"Dean, no..." I try, I try so hard to keep saying no.

"You don't love me?"

My heart skips a beat at heart-broken voice. I step forward again, bridging that gap between us. My hand reaches up and strokes his cheek, brushing over the stubble. "I..." If I say this, I'll be admitting defeat to myself. The last six years I've been convincing myself I didn't need him. And it had worked, and then he show up again and all those memories come back. "I always have."

"Then, please. One more chance." Dean takes that final step between us and places his hands on either side of my neck, pressing our foreheads together. His breath ghosts over my lips, and I can't stop myself from closing my eyes.

I want this, I need this. I press my forehead harder against Dean's. "In a cage where only one thing can be free and it's not you and I." He kisses my cheek, the motion sending shivers down my spine.

"I love you." He mutters. I wish he had said it more when we were together, we would have been happier. "I love you, Cas." He says again. "Don't cry."

"I'm not cry-" Scratch that. The levee breaks. I wrap my arms tightly around him and finally press our lips together. It's a gentle exchange filled with my closeted longing and the desperation I thought I had been so good at hiding. When he pulls away, he leaves lingering kisses down my jaw and down my neck before pressing his nose into my clavicle and inhaling.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." There's something wet seeping into my shirt. I pull away and hold his face in my hands. Tears glisten in his eyes and suddenly I'm thankful we had met again a year ago.

"Don't leave me." My voice is sterner than I had wanted it to be, but I realise it's my own issue with separation anxiety.

"I won't, Cas. I promise." Words I never thought I'd hear Dean Winchester say.

"Where do you live?" I say after a moment of silence. He takes me by the hand and leads me a few blocks south to a small apartment building. We don't speak in the elevator. We don't speak in the hallway. We stay connected by our hands and nothing more. Until we reach his place, and we remain quiet as we kiss and shed our clothes.

Our sex is sweet, passionate, desperate, and loving. The only sounds we make are quiet, involuntary moans of pleasure. Our orgasm is a long exhale, our lips press together, our hands wander.

As we come down from our ecstatic high, we stare at each other through the darkness. I smile. He smiles. And then we laugh. Nothing is particularly funny, but it's sweet relief.

"I love you, Cas."

"I love you, Dean."

We begin to drift to sleep, tangled inteh sheets and each other, pale moonlight illuminating Dean's face.

"Why Montreal?" I need to know.

"Sam said you moved here."

I blink. "I'm glad he told you."

"Me too." Dean blinks his eyes open. "We should sleep. We're gonna need the energy tomorrow." He smirks and I get his reference. I curl up against his chest and fall asleep.

* * *

A/N: The line "In a cage where only one thing can be free and it's not you and I" is a line from Stars' _Set Yourself on Fire_ which is an amazing amazing song. So this is the end. I hope it feels more complete now. I'm sorry it's so long, but I feel like it might have felt rushed if it were any shorter. Please review, I always appreciate it! xxPyx


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